Farmer Corps brought me two eggs of a fern-owl, which he found under a bush in shrub-wood. The dam was sitting on the nest; & the eggs, by their weight, seemed to be just near hatching. These eggs were darker, & more mottled than what I have procured before.
The double roses rot in the bud without blowing out: an instance this of the coldness, & wetness of the summer. Potatoes blossom.
Whortle-berries offered at the door. Cherries have little flavour.
The Provost & Lady left us. Thunder in the night, & most part of the day to the S. & S.E. Yellow evening.
The Poet of Nature lets few rural incidents escape him. In his Summer he mentions the whetting of a scythe as a pleasing circumstance, not from the real sound, which is harsh, grating, & unmusical; but from the train of summer ideas which it raises in the imagination. No one who loves his garden & lawn but rejoices to hear the sound of the mower on an early, dewy morning.–
“Echo no more returns the chearful sound
Of sharpening scythe.”
Milton also, as a pleasing summer-morning occurrence, says,
…”the mower whets his scythe.”
— L’Allegro
Farmer Hoare’s son shot a hen Wood-chat (Lanius s. senator) or small Butcher-bird as it was washing at Well-head, attended by the cock. It is a rare bird in these parts. In it’s craw were insects.
Mr Eveleigh says, that the churring of a fern-owl is like the noise of a razor-grinder’s wheel.
There is a natural occurance to be met with upon the highest part of our down on hot summer days, which always amuses me much, without giving me any satisfaction with respect to the cause of it; & that is a loud audible humming of bees in the air, tho’ not one insect is to be seen. This sound is to be heard distinctly the whole common through, from the Money-dells, to Mr White’s avenue-gate. Any person would suppose that a large swarm of bees was in motion, & playing about over his head. This noise was heard last week on June 28th.
“Resounds the lving surface of the ground,
Nor undelightful is the ceasless hum
To him who muses… at noon.”
“Thick in yon stream of light a thousand was,
Upward, and downward, thwarting, & convolv’d,
The quivering nations sport.”
Thomson’s Seasons
Theme Ported to